


Dirty King

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Anal Fingering, Banter, Bottom Danny "Danno" Williams, Case Fic, Crying During Sex, Devotion, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s05e17 Kuka'awale (Stakeout), Explicit Sexual Content, Exploration, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Loss of Anal Virginity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Phalloplasty, Romance, Top Steve McGarrett, Top Trans Man, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Steve McGarrett, i am a trans man and i am obsessed with mcdanno so...... why not combine the two things, if you're just into mcdanno i can promise their dynamic is one hundred percent the same as canon lol, there's not enough trans man porn out there that's not fetishistic and gross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-03-20 18:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: “I’m doing a little, uh,” he gestured to the book on his lap as Steve pottered around in the kitchen, “quiz outta this book. How well you know your partner.”Your partner.Danny rolled the words around in his mouth. He liked how they tasted. He thought of gold wedding bands, Steve’s sun-weathered skin, and things he could never have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Dirty King_ by The Cliks.

Danny had been assigned to John McGarrett’s case, which hadn’t been great, because investigating the death of a cop was never fun. And he was still bitter from his last case, ego rubbed raw by his failure and Rachel’s part in it, conscience weighing heavy on his already-burdened shoulders. He’d gotten Steven Jack McGarrett’s file, complete with more redactions and confidential sections than he knew what to do with, but it was the still-present information that really shocked him.

Stapled to the inside of the folder was a photograph of McGarrett, framed by the American flag and a formless blue background, dressed to the nines in his Navy getup. Expressionless eyes gazing from beneath the shined brim of his hat, mouth set in a calm line, shoulders stiff. A third line military man, war in his blood, five years Naval Intelligence, six years with the SEALs, deployments in Afghanistan, Iraq, and North Korea, adept at interrogation and torture. Silver Star, Bronze Medal, Purple Heart, Commendation Medals, Achievement Medals, Combat Action Ribbons… _Shit._ This guy ticked all the boxes for a classic case of hard-drinking PTSD, and as Danny read these details, a churning feeling nestled deep in his stomach.

He looked again at the photograph, his gaze drawn to McGarrett’s heavy eyes. This was not a man who would sit idly by while his father’s death was investigated. Danny knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this hardened motherfucker would be a pain in his ass, and most _definitely_ a constant voice in this investigation.

But there was another feeling itching at him, too. A pull of sadness. He returned his attention to McGarrett’s file, took note of the sparse personal details that were listed. He had no spouse. He lived alone. He had attended military-mandated therapy sessions which had very obviously been rubber-stamped. His operational partner had been brutally murdered by North Korean insurgents immediately prior to his father’s death. _McGarrett and Hart known to have been very close,_ the file noted clinically.

Danny rubbed at his eyes, exhausted now. He took a pull of coffee, but wasn’t sated by it. This window into Steve McGarrett’s life was bleak as fuck. Danny couldn’t even imagine the level at which this guy was operating. Christ. How could someone even process that level of trauma?

He read on. Most of it was redacted, citing classified military op status. Then, he reached a tiny paragraph right at the end of the file, slipped in quietly, with the subtlety that it deserved.

_Steven Jack McGarrett, born 10 March 1977 as Deborah Jane McGarrett, to parents Doris and John McGarrett. Name changed at age 14. Medical transition undertaken. Parents supportive. No military opposition during service, due to a need-to-know approach, dictated by Steven McGarrett._

Danny blinked. He frowned at the words, printed so confidently, the statement of fact he was still taking time to process. He flipped back to the start of the file, stared at that Navy portrait. The strong man with the cold eyes, jaw held stiff, medals and ribbons clustered on his label.

“Well, damn,” he murmured.

Danny didn’t live under a rock, okay, he had served alongside trans cops. He’d also seen his fair share of street crime, met dozens of homeless trans kids who’d been kicked out of their family’s houses, referred them onto shelters with a heavy heart and the knowledge that, no, he couldn’t adopt them all.

He just hadn’t expected that the subject of this file– who was, irrefutably, a man– would have come from that world. His respect for Steve McGarrett, already established, grew with this knowledge. The military wasn’t a fun place. God knew Danny would have fucking hated it if he’d ever tried to serve. The fact that this guy had not only survived, but also excelled beyond his peers… Shit, it was fucking admirable.

Danny sighed loudly. He closed the file, sat back in his chair. He rolled his neck around on his shoulders with a tired groan.

“This guy’s gonna be the most stubborn fucker in the world,” he predicted aloud.

He was right.

 

***

 

Years later, their relationship– professional and otherwise– had grown and developed comfortably, settling into a warmth Danny had never expected to find himself enveloped in. They were friends, but they were also more than that. Borders had been crossed to find each other, blood crusting over Steve’s temples as he hunched in the back of a North Korean truck, Danny’s body hitting the ground hard as he was kicked by Columbian prison guards, each man working feverishly to rescue the person their lives had become tethered to. The intensity with which they fought for each other bordered on manic.

Nobody messed with Danny. Nobody messed with Steve.

Not without facing consequences.

They matched this devotion with childish bickering, soothing over the intensity of their relationship– which they had yet to define, and so mutually denied– with banter. This way they could pretend to just be brothers in arms, pals, workmates. That made it simpler. That made it easier for them to embrace after near-death cases, made it easier to ignore the way Danny’s hands lingered on Steve’s body, the way Steve’s voice dipped into quiet reverence when he said, _I love you, Danno._ If Danny whined about Steve putting butter in his coffee, he could lay his arm across Steve’s shoulders as they sat watching shitty Halloween movies, and tell himself it was just friendly affection. If Steve complained about Danny’s paranoia and relentless negativity, he could hug him close, lips lingering close to Danny’s cheek, and pass it off as an accident.

 

***

 

They were putting this balance to the test, the precarious semi-platonic romance they’d maintained for so long, by doing a stakeout together. The apartment had lace doilies, for fuck’s sake. It was as domestic as an apartment could possibly get. They may as well have been fucking married, not to mention in their seventies. After all the couples therapy and the hand-holding they’d been doing lately, this was almost pushing it too far, almost taking the risk a little too head-on.

So, they settled down, and Danny bitched at Steve, complained about his plates on the couch, his disgusting microwaved eggs, his obsession with protein and combat-ready meals. And he was covering it up well. But he couldn’t resist teasing at the edges of his limits, his repressed needs rising to the surface, whispering, _what if, what if, what if…_ Eventually, it was that fucking book that did it, the one that the therapist had given him. It was tempting him so much, and he gave in, continually mentioning it to Steve, just so that he could say _partner_ out loud.

“I’m doing a little, uh,” he gestured to the book on his lap as Steve pottered around in the kitchen, “quiz outta this book. How well you know your partner.”

 _Your partner._ Danny rolled the words around in his mouth. He liked how they tasted. He thought of gold wedding bands, Steve’s sun-weathered skin, and things he could never have.

“It asked me to list something that you were very passionate about,” he elaborated, trying to sound bored.

“Oh yeah?” Steve replied casually, shovelling a forkful of microwaved eggs into his mouth, managing to stun Danny that he liked this Neanderthal of a man at all. “What’d you write?”

“Protein.”

“Protein?” A smile tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips. “Wow, you really, uh, peered into my soul.”

Danny held up his hands. “Okay. What are you passionate about?”

Steve thought about it. “…There’s things I’m passionate about.”

“Like what?”

Steve swallowed, depositing his fork in the bowl, placing it down on the counter. He seemed to actually be giving this some contemplation, which Danny considered laughable.

“…Music.” Steve said eventually, with a surprising amount of confidence in his voice. “I’m passionate about music.”

Danny threw back his head and laughed, unable to help himself. “That’s a terrible cop-out. I mean, _everybody’s_ passionate about music. I like music, too. I mean, Bon Jovi, I could tell you every song he ever wrote. Big deal.”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “I’m not passionate about listening to music, I’m passionate about _playing_ music.”

Danny laughed harder. “Oh, you play music? That's funny, just 'cause I've known you for a very long time and never seen you even close to an instrument, let alone playing one.”

“Well, I…” Steve looked down at his hands, picking up his bowl and fork again like he needed a distraction, “I used to play guitar. Actually, I was really into it. I was quite good, too.”

Danny frowned. His laughter drained from the air, and he sensed the mood change, heard the ache in Steve’s voice.

“But you stopped. Why’d you stop?”

Steve poked at his eggs. The silence stretched on.

“I dunno. Just stopped, didn’t I?”

Danny didn’t know what to say to that. Turned out he didn’t have the opportunity to respond, because then Lou was knocking on the door and complaining about the stench of eggs inside the apartment, so he got an excuse not to ask. But he wanted to. He wanted so badly to know why Steve didn’t play guitar any more, why talking about this hurt him, why this experience had gone unmentioned for all the years they’d known each other. He wanted to know everything about Steve. Wanted to touch the deepest parts of him, soothe pains that never saw the light of day, wear down those war-hardened barriers until there was nothing left but sincerity. He wanted to be with Steve. And he wanted it so badly.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Later, Danny was curled up on the couch, nestled beneath a blanket, trying to ignore the heat that had begun pooling in his groin from the audio of their targets, who were presently writhing around in bed. He was hard as fuck, but couldn’t do anything about it. If he went to the bathroom for twenty minutes, Steve would know what was up. Hell, if he even _stood up,_ the tightness at the front of his jeans would be blatantly obvious. This felt like fucking middle school all over again.

Steve was leaned back, eyes half-lidded, gazing blankly at the computer screen. Danny’s toes, snug in cotton socks, were pressed against Steve’s thigh. And Danny tried not to wonder, but he couldn’t help it; he was a man, after all, and he had an infatuation with Steve that went beyond just the romantic. He wanted to know whether Steve was turned on, too. Whether Steve could get hard, like him. It was none of his fucking business, he knew that, but the thought kept nagging at him.

He wanted to touch Steve so goddamn badly.

Really, what he wanted was for Steve to fuck him, and though he’d never slept with a trans man before, he doubted it’d be an issue. Even if Steve didn’t have a cock in the same way that Danny had a cock– which he did, Danny had subsequently learned– he had hands. He had broad, heavy palms, clever fingers, and thick forearms. Danny had no doubt that Steve could hold him down and fuck him that way, with his hands and his mouth, and Danny would feel just as dominated as with any other man. More so, in fact. Because it was Steve.

And there was nobody else like Steve.

Danny remembered one sweltering Hawaiian morning, when he’d wandered into Steve’s house and made himself at home, in the casual way that he’d become so accustomed to doing. He’d made himself a coffee, grabbed a bagel from the fridge, wandered out towards the shoreline. Steve was jogging up from the surf, and they talked as he towelled off. Danny hadn’t been deliberately looking, because he wasn’t a fucking pervert, but his eyes had accidentally caught the bulge of a cock beneath Steve’s underwear, and he’d seen the rectangular patches of red that stretched from just below the beginning of Steve’s left thigh to a few inches above his knee. Scars. Steve had been through Hell and all the associated tortures of third-world conflict, but these scars were surgical, and Danny had known what they were. He’d felt pride then, oddly enough. Pride for this strong, beautiful man in his life. Pride for Steve, and the lengths he would go to in order to be himself.

“I fell asleep,” Danny murmured, trying to make conversation just to distract himself from his wandering memories, “I miss anything?”

Steve gestured at the computer, and the still-audible moans. “They stopped for a water break about half an hour ago.”

“That’s good. You gotta stay hydrated. See, this? This is bad for men in general. This is what gives us a bad name. Three hours, that includes a drink– this is impossible. We can’t do this.”

He spied the couple’s workbook near Steve’s elbow, sitting casually on the table like a goddamn lifesaver. He leapt at the opportunity to change the subject.

“You uh,” he shifted on the couch, careful not to dislodge the blanket and reveal the front of his pants, “You reading the workbook?”

Steve glanced at the incriminating book. “I- No.”

“No? No? It was over here, now it’s over here, you had to do something with it.”

“When you fell asleep, you dropped it on the floor,” Steve insisted, offering up a classically shit excuse, “I moved it over here.”

“You didn’t look at it?”

“I look...? I mean- Maybe, yeah, I looked at it a little bit,” Steve’s argument was rambling, and he shrugged defensively, “I skimmed through it a little bit, I was bored, sitting here.”

Danny had to suppress a grin. “What’d you think?”

Steve shrugged again.

“That’s it? You’re unbelievable. I mean, I have seen you personally put yourself in every conceivable life-threatening situation without batting an eye, like it's nothing. But when it comes to talking about your feelings, forget about it, you'd rather chew cyanide.”

Steve didn’t respond. Danny flopped down onto a couch pillow with a huff, bunching it up under his head. “Forget it. Wake me up if they do something interesting, or open up those curtains.”

It had been a light-hearted dig, one of their usual jabs. But, when Steve sat in silence for a good while longer, Danny started to feel that perhaps he’d hit a nerve. His curtain joke didn’t even get a laugh.

“…You want to know why I don’t play guitar anymore?”

Steve’s voice was soft. Danny felt a spark of warmth in his chest, the ache that burned whenever Steve’s walls came down. He sat up a bit, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Yes, I would…” he licked at his lips, nervous, “…I would like to know why you don’t play guitar anymore, Steven.”

Steve swallowed, head leaned back against the couch. Danny’s eyes were drawn to the long, elegant line of his throat, the catch of his Adam’s apple. In the dark like this, just the two of them, the space between their bodies seemed so warm.

“Tenth grade talent show,” he began quietly, voice thick with emotion, “I signed up to perform. I practiced the song every day for months and months, and the day finally came around. I was standing in the wings. My guitar was in tune. They called my name, I walked out on stage…”

Danny could imagine it. He clung to every word, hungry for Steve’s childhood, his secrets, his heart.

“…I turned around and looked at all those people, and I… couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it, so I walked off and never played guitar again.”

Danny stared at him, dumbfounded. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Tenth grade, you had stage fright, so you never played guitar ever again?”

It was the wrong thing to say. The second those words left Danny’s mouth, he cursed himself, furious at his emotional ineptitude. But, thank fuck, Steve didn’t seem to mind, his gaze distant and unfocussed. His mind was clearly elsewise engaged.

“I didn't have stage fright; it was bigger than that. I'm telling you, man, it was a…”

The words hung there for a while, whispered.

“It was an existential crisis. I just… In that moment, I couldn't handle the… the _vulnerability_ that I was experiencing. I couldn't handle how exposed I felt. I felt like I couldn't breathe, and I thought it was gonna kill me.”

Danny tried to find something to say. He tried to pair the image of a young, scared boy, with the man that sat next to him, and he struggled. The NAVY meathead, the interrogation extraordinaire, the gun-wielding taskforce Commander… beneath all that lay a teenage boy who had been too afraid to play guitar. Danny felt blessed, he felt privileged to be here, in this room, being given this glimpse into Steve’s past. But he didn’t know how to say that.

“Look, man,” Steve continued, when Danny didn’t speak, “I was raised differently than you, okay? I wasn't raised in a house with a supportive family encouraging me to share my feelings. And in your case, every feeling.”

Danny nodded in acquiescence because, yeah, that was fair.

“The McGarrett men are a different breed. To them, showing emotion is like showing weakness, you know? I mean, it's stupid, but it's just the way it is. When I became a man, I knew I had to… push all the emotions away. Be the kind of man my father was. Make him proud. He was supportive of my transition, and I didn’t want to lose that by being… weak.”

Fuck. That was two tonnes worth of emotional labour to put on a kid.

Danny shifted his foot, brushed his heel against Steve’s leg. Poking him to get his attention. Steve looked over, vulnerability in his eyes, and Danny offered him a grin.

“He would’ve been proud of you anyway, Steve.”

Steve smiled back after a pause. He lifted a hand, placed it on Danny’s ankle. Held him there, thumb brushing gently over soft cotton.

“I just figured, after all we’d been through…” Danny fought the urge to look away, made himself hold Steve’s gaze, stay with him in this moment. “…Y'know, your father, my brother, everything… I figured I was somebody you could open up to.”

Steve’s smile grew. “I just did.”

A fair point. Danny huffed out a laugh, tapped on the blanket. The air stilled between them, soft moans still coming from the other apartment, distorted by electronic frequency. Danny looked away then, gaze downcast, unable to maintain eye contact. This moment was too intense. Too much.

Looking down, he then realised his mistake. Throughout the conversation, he’d shifted onto his side, the blanket pulled tight across him. Next to the curve of his thigh was a very obvious lump pressing against the blanket, and there was no mistaking what that shape signified. And Steve, much to Danny’s horror, had followed his gaze, and was looking down too.

“Shit,” he sat up abruptly, gathering the blanket up into his lap, folding his legs up away from Steve, “Sorry, I just- With the audio and everything-”

Steve barked out a laugh, and Danny mourned the quiet of the preceding moment. “I was in the military, Danny, you really think a boner shocks me?”

Danny, blushing furiously, held his hands over his groin, blanket bunched between clenched fingers. “I don’t know, Steven, I don’t think often about whether your opinions on erections are positive or not, Jesus-”

“Oh, calm down. Go deal with it, if you want. I’ll watch them.”

“Go… Go _deal_ with it?”

“Yeah,” Steve gestured towards the bathroom, “Take a shower.”

Danny gawked at him, speechless. “I’m not jerking off with you in the same building– the same _zip code–_ as me.”

“You’d be surprised how often this was a problem on military ops. Relax.”

Danny continued to stare at him. And he stared maybe a second too long, because Steve caught the curiosity in his expression, clocked the beginnings of a question that Danny wanted to ask.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just…”

“Come on, Danny, ask. Whatever it is.”

“No, forget it-”

“I’m already talking about my goddamn childhood, just ask already.”

Danny’s face was burning. Fuck it. _Fuck it,_ he’d come too far to back out now. Consequences be damned.

“I just… If you… When you hear stuff that, uh… turns you on, do… Do you…”

Steve looked like he was suppressing laughter again. “Do I get hard?”

At this point, Danny basically wanted to die. “You told me to ask.”

Steve kept laughing, clutching his torso now, and Danny lifted up the blanket, smushing it into his face, feeling humiliated.

“You asshole.”

“Oh, Danny,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head, “Yeah, I can get hard, but not just by listening to…” he waved in the vague direction of the computer, “…Takes a little more effort than that.”

Danny peeked over the blanket, curious despite how insane this conversation was to be having with Steve, of all people.

The look he was met with was one he hadn’t expected.

Steve didn’t look angry. He didn’t look embarrassed or uncomfortable. He didn’t even really look amused, now; his expression had shifted into something more serious, something more profound. His eyes were alive with curiosity, with _intent._

His lips parted, those perfect lips, and before he even spoke, Danny just _knew_ that these next words would ruin him.

“I can show you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the contents of this chapter: [here](https://www.xtube.com/video-watch/getting-hard-12303371) is a nsfw video of a Phallo cock, and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HqlzhY5XaY) is a healed Phallo thigh scar. Many trans men who have undergone Phallo procedures have cis-passing cocks, and can have sex without being clocked as trans. Also, the lack of scars on Steve's chest is due to the fact that he realised his gender identity at a young age, and so never had to undergo top surgery. For the record though, many trans men who have top surgery are still [cis-passing.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBXbjS5k2eM)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you dearly to everyone who left a comment praising this story! I really appreciate you reaching out! (Especially CloudrunnersCinnamon, you wrote to me at just the right time!) I got _very_ passionate about writing original fiction, and ended up over 60k words deep in a sprawling fantasy erotica story… But I’m back to update this fic!!  
> .  
> .  
> Since beginning this story I’ve written a [guide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475404/chapters/48584630) on how to approach writing trans men, which I would really recommend reading if you have limited knowledge of guys like myself, and especially if you’re not trans and you ever plan to write trans men. There are a lot of untrue stereotypes about FTM guys that are perpetuated and worsened by fanfiction.  
> .  
> .  
> If you would like more smut featuring masculine trans guys, check out a bunch of the works in [this series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480958). Also, regarding the NSFW stuff in this chapter: yes, trans male cocks can look [like normal penises and also be very large](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/0ce792_53d110dc024148a6b7f87e119267d1c3~mv2.jpg). FTM surgical transitions are generally very successful, and men like myself can be head-to-toe indistinguishable from other men, if we so choose (and can afford it).  
> .  
> .  
> I'll update when I can! I'm in Australia though, so there is a great deal of stress for my community at present. Pray for us, if you believe in that.

The words hung in the air for a moment that felt as long as anything Danny had ever experienced. He couldn’t look away from Steve’s eyes, was hypnotised by those lustful syllables, didn’t quite believe he’d heard his partner correctly. Then he saw Steve’s lashes dip down in a flutter of sheer want, lips parting in a soft exhale, gaze direct with _intent,_ and he realised he wasn’t insane. This was really happening. Steve McGarrett, superhuman dumbass and Danny’s best friend, the most gorgeous guy on this island, had dropped an anvil-sized comment on Danny’s head that completely smashed through the coy dance they’d been doing all these years.

He couldn’t say, later, who moved first. He sat up fast, faster than he ever had before. They leaned towards each other hurriedly, lips meeting in a hungry kiss, and it felt so _real_ that Danny struggled to even believe this was happening. Steve’s mouth was hot and soft, his tongue silky, the scratch of his stubble reminding Danny that, yes, this was a _man_ he was kissing. He wasn’t used to this. Didn’t usually do things like this. Steve was his exception in so many ways.

He summoned courage he hadn’t even been aware he possessed, reaching up and sliding his hand against the curve of Steve’s neck, cupping the shape of his skin, holding him. He felt the drag of fingers against his shirt, Steve’s palm against his chest, another gripping his waist, and dizzying heat sparked beneath Danny’s face as he tried to stay relaxed about this. Fuck. He was a _grown man,_ he shouldn’t be feeling like a hopeless kid having his first kiss. He just felt so small, so unsure and bumbling. Steve was steady against him, masculine and strong, every movement measured for its worth. Many times, Danny had imagined Steve with Catherine, dreamed of them together in bed, the way he would hold her and touch her… It was only now that he understood how she had felt.

Steve eased their faces apart, breathing harder now. Danny’s heart was sprinting, beating a rabid tempo against the underside of his ribcage. His eyes were still closed, but Steve brushed a thumb against the rise of his hip, where the hem of his shirt was bunched up.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice so soft that Danny felt like he was going to break apart, “Hey, look at me.”

Danny did, and he knew his cheeks were pink, knew he was flushed and delightfully embarrassed. The moment he met Steve’s eyes, he found his face breaking out into a silly, childish grin, mirrored by Steve’s own beaming smile.

“Shut up,” Danny muttered.

“Didn’t say anything,” Steve replied cheekily. Danny shook his head, and Steve chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, when their lips met, it was softer. A brush of mouths, the faint sound of a kiss. It made Danny tremble in a completely different way.

They lingered there for a moment, breathing in each other’s air, meditating on the enormity of what had just happened. Danny had a brief moment where he wondered how he’d have to define himself now. Bisexual? Fuck, it was probably a redundant question. He’d been in love with Steve for years. This was just him finally having to face it.

“So…” Steve began, “Do you actually… wanna see…?”

“Jesus, fuck me,” Danny whispered, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Fuck you, huh? That can be arranged.”

Danny felt like his head was going to explode. “Oh my god,”

Steve laughed, pulling Danny close, into a tight hug that made him feel so warm and protected, surrounded by his embrace, tucked into his warm powerful body. Danny let his hands hover against the small of Steve’s back, allowed himself the bliss of smoothing his fingers against the sloping contours of muscle and bone. This didn’t feel allowed. The knowledge that, all this time, his feelings had been reciprocated, was immense in itself. It shook him to his core. But there was something else, too. A feeling beyond shivering arousal and annoyance at all the days they could’ve been fucking before now. He loved Steve _so much_ that it bordered on _pain_. Their history together was more layered and complex than anything he’d been through with Rachel. He wanted this so deeply that the fear he would lose this, lose the sensation of safety that Steve brought into his life and the warmth of their embrace, terrified him. It was a sensation of bone-deep horror. He should’ve been carefree, should’ve been making out with Steve like an untroubled teenager, but he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a grown man.

And Steve must’ve known this, must’ve felt Danny’s fingers tightening, twisting the fibres of his shirt, because he inclined his head against Danny’s, lips seeking out his cheek, kissing him. All the words Danny couldn’t force out, all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the air to voice, Steve was hearing anyway. They moved in unison.

They knew each other better than anybody else ever could.

"I've wanted this... for years, Steven. Too many goddamn years."

"Yeah," Steve said, whispering the word against Danny's neck, "Yeah, me too."

"The fuck took us so long?"

"Guess we're just stupid."

"Well, you are, I dunno about me."

Danny felt Steve smile against his skin. Then, they were kissing again, the feeling of sadness retreating.

The girls were still going so the two men left them to it, as if it was a choice they could even make when they were gifted with the ability to finally touch each other. Steve pulled off his shirt, arching his back into the motion, arms stretched above his head. Danny took his off too and immediately dove upon Steve’s body, touching and kissing him all over, pressing the flat of his tongue against Steve’s nipple, dragging his teeth over the crest of his collarbone, mouthing the dip at the hollow of his throat. Steve looked like he had been carved from marble, like artists had circled him for years with chisels at the ready, crafting the most beautiful man in the world. He was scarred and corroded from years of violence and war, but he was still magnificent. Danny knew, without a doubt, that Steve McGarrett would always remain faultless in his eyes.

“How’re you so fucking perfect,” Danny groaned, “You’re impossible, you asshole.”

Steve laughed breathlessly, hands curling around Danny’s head, cupping the shape of his skull. “Why, thank you.”

“You’re supposed to give a compliment back, idiot.”

“You know you’re perfect already, wouldn’t want to inflate your ego more,” Steve replied slyly, stroking Danny’s hair, the softness of his touch reassuring Danny that he was just being his usual flippant self. It almost helped, actually, to deviate from disarmingly honest declarations of adoration. Danny knew how to fuck. He knew how to enjoy people’s bodies. He could do this.

Danny took hold of Steve’s shoulders, leaned him back, pressed him into the couch. He curled his fingers around the waistband of Steve’s pants, and hesitated. Shit. He’d never done this before. Not even once. How the fuck could he have fantasised about Steve for so many years and yet freeze when the moment came to finally see another man’s cock?

“We don’t have to,” Steve told him, “You can take some time to figure out… things.”

Well, that settled it. Danny had to go ahead with it now. Steve was being genuinely patient, but his gentle words amounted to a dare in Danny’s mind, because every single interaction they had boiled down to a fun imitation of a power struggle.

He pulled down Steve’s pants, tugged them entirely off before he allowed himself to properly look. He tried not to stare too much, because he really doubted Steve wanted to be treated like some kind of specimen, but he couldn’t help it.

“You have a bigger goddamn penis than I do.”

Steve grinned, showing his teeth, gorgeous and smug all at once. The kind of expression that had made Danny want to punch him when they’d first met.

Danny reached out, tentatively taking Steve in hand, palm settling against the girth of him. He noticed Steve’s eyes briefly close, his mouth opening in a quiet gasp. The fucking wonders of science. Danny had been prepared for Steve not to have a cock, not in the same way he did, but lo and behold, he did indeed have one between his legs. And when Danny touched him, he enjoyed it.

“How do I…?”

Without replying, apparently aware of the question Danny had been about to ask, Steve reached down and pinched one of his balls between his thumb and his forefinger, wrist and knuckles tightening as he massaged it. With every motion his penis lengthened and hardened, filling out before Danny’s eyes, until he found himself holding a rigid cock.

“So, you… You can get hard, just, what- whenever you want?”

Steve smirked playfully. He reached up to fold his hands behind his head, raising an eyebrow, laying back boldly, letting his thighs fall open.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice lowered to a lustful murmur, “I can stay hard as long as I want, too.”

The implication behind his words was obvious. Danny blushed. He had imagined this before, dreamed of being pressed facedown into a plush mattress, moaning so sweetly as Steve moved behind him, buried deep within his body in ways no other man ever would be. He hadn’t given much thought to _how_ they’d fuck, wouldn’t have minded if Steve did it differently to other men, but he’d known how Steve would treat him. How he _wanted_ Steve to treat him. It was nothing short of a miracle that all his wishes were coming true. He wanted Steve to fuck him forever, for hours, until Danny was a drooling mess, helplessly glassy-eyed, drenched in sweat and trembling from overstimulation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.xtube.com/video-watch/getting-hard-12303371) is the kind of cock that Steve has. And yes, the man in the video is transgender.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than usual because I'm super anxious about these fires. Hopefully I'll update soon if I continue to have access to internet and a computer (and a home). Good ol' Aussie summers, eh.

Steve knew that Danny wasn’t used to this. _Any_ of this. He was so aware of their every touch, every single sound and movement Danny made, watching him and waiting for any sign of pain or discomfort.

Danny was so beautiful. There was a blunt, squarish loveliness about his face, his rounded jawline and his strong brow, blond hair mussed in ways he rarely allowed. Rogue strands hung by his bright eyes, the glimmer of sweat moistening his hooded gaze. Steve teased the guy about his height, liked to prod at him with jokes, but the truth was that he loved short men, and he loved the way Danny’s body was shaped. His pert, round ass, the way his waist was tapered and trim, his chest solid but slender.

Steve couldn’t count the number of times he’d wandered into his house and seen Danny at the kitchen bench, pushing eggs around in a pan, humming some annoying song that Steve would complain about within minutes. Shoulders and hips canted to an angle, head tilted to the side, one bare foot tapping a discordant rhythm against the floor. That firm, perfectly built little body, lazing about his kitchen and his house like they were already fucking _married_. Steve had become convinced that Danny had been on a mission to seduce him, so he had returned the favour. He realised now that he’d tried to excuse Danny’s lingering glances when he was shirtless and panting for air after a long run, never quite taking their mutual attraction at face value.

All that foreplay was over now.

Danny gasped quietly, feeling his way through this new experience. He’d prepared himself in the bathroom earlier, cheeks pink when he emerged. Steve hadn’t asked, but it was obvious Danny had done his research. He’d been preparing for this. Wondering about it.

They had gone into the apartment’s bedroom, taken the surveillance equipment in with them, hardly dissuaded from their current activities by the ceaseless moans of beautiful women. For politeness’ sake, they’d spread a towel out on the bed. Danny was sprawled on his back, eyebrows pulled together into a tight frown, mouth open, gaze flickering about the room and back to Steve’s face when he could stand the intimacy of eye contact. Steve kissed him deeply, tried to make this as easy as possible. Danny had considered himself a straight man for the majority of his life. It was difficult for guys like that to embrace another man.

Steve slowly eased Danny into hardness, palm moving up and down, fingers tight enough that Danny whimpered and keened. With his other hand, he massaged his way inward, fingers wet with lubricant that they’d found in the bedside table. It smelled like strawberries, a sweet fragrance that threaded itself through the musky, heady scent that clung to Danny’s skin. That was something Steve had always loved about men. That smell. The taste of masculinity.

“Has anyone,” Steve breathed against his mouth, “ever touched you like this before?”

Danny laughed, the sound more skin to a choked gasp than anything else. “You know nobody ever has.”

“Well, some guys like their girlfriend to stick a finger up-”

“What a romantic way to describe what you’re doing to me right now, Steven.”

“Oh, I dunno…” Steve chuckled, licking into Danny’s mouth, their lips slotting together wetly, “…this feels pretty romantic to me.”

Danny’s body rolled against him, both arms clutching at Steve like he needed the stability, the reassurance. Though the sex hadn’t started yet, proper, this felt so intimate. Both of them naked, Steve’s cock dragging against the sheets, the broad expanse of Danny’s bare chest pressed up against him. Just being like this, so close and so exposed, felt revolutionary.

“Is this good? We can stop, if you-”

“No. No stopping. Fuck. Waited too long to stop now.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world. There’s no rush.”

Danny fell silent at that, going still. Steve knew why. The idea that they would do this again, that they would be meeting like this in the future, was immense beyond description. Would their co-workers realise what they were doing? Would they have to tell them? Christ, all of the people they worked with were _trained_ to figure shit out. They wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret. Whether Danny liked it or not, he would have to come out.

Distracting Danny from his surely growing panic, Steve kept kissing him, extending another finger and adding it alongside the first, rewarded by a shivering gasp as new sensations breached Danny’s body. Danny parted his legs wider, thighs trembling, knees framing Steve’s hips. Steve angled his hand, sought out the warm groove that he knew would have Danny crying out, and found it quickly.

“Oh,” Danny panted, head inclining upward, chin towards the ceiling, mouth open wide, “Oh, _oh._ Shit, Steve…”

Steve rubbed him there, swirling his fingers, slow but firm.

“Didn’t think it’d feel this good, fuck,”

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Steve told him, pleased at his obvious enjoyment, “Tell me if it stops being good.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

When Steve finally did move inside him, Danny was stunned by how easy it was, how perfectly Steve’s cock fit. He was gasping with it, spine curling up off the bedsheets as his body adjusted to sensations never before felt, more full than he could describe. But it was Steve’s face that really astounded him. When he opened his eyes, Steve was looking right down at him, the intensity of his gaze somehow more powerful than anything Danny had ever experienced. He gasped, almost tipping over the edge, trembling with it, his whole world reduced to the look on Steve’s face and the long, unfamiliar weight of a cock deep inside his body. He spread his legs wider, as wide as he could, and felt it slide even deeper. There was a vulnerability to this that Danny hadn’t expected. It bubbled up inside him, a hyperawareness of his own body, how submissive he was being. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it this much, could never have imagined this was what sex with a man would feel like. It had to be the right man. Anybody else and Danny wouldn’t have been able to bear feeling this way.

“You okay?” Steve asked the question like he was genuinely unsure.

Danny nodded wordlessly.

“I’m gonna move now. Get ready.”

Not a question, but a command. Heat sparked in Danny’s chest, warmth flooding in his face. Steve knew, then. He knew how Danny wanted this. He had read between the lines, seen Danny’s bratty posturing for what it was; a plea for subjugation, for Steve to put him in his place, to violate him so beautifully and force this pleasure upon him. Because it wasn’t just about love, was it? It was about fucking. And Danny wanted to be _fucked_ by Steve.

Steve drew his hips slowly backward, easing his cock almost out. Danny couldn’t help but whimper, biting his lip.

“Don’t hold back, now,” Steve encouraged him in a low, hungry voice, an undercurrent of affection not quite masked by his arousal, “I want to know how you feel. Wanna see it all.”

“Fuck,” Danny breathed, “Steve…”

Steve moved forward again, so slowly that Danny wanted to scream. The intimacy was almost too much. Part of him wanted Steve to just plough him, absolutely destroy him, but he knew that he had to allow this vulnerability. He had to let it flow through him, had to let his barriers crumble, right here in the bed beneath Steve’s body.

He made a noise that he could’ve never imagined coming from his mouth, a broken wail, too euphoric and helpless to have belonged to him.

“Yeah, you like it?”

“Fuck you, Steve,” Danny gasped, “You know I- _ah,”_

“You feel so good, Daniel,” Steve groaned, nuzzling against Danny’s cheek, undulating his body now, thrusting in and out languidly.

Danny couldn’t believe this was really happening. He could feel Steve’s balls press against his ass, feel the whole of his length, feel the weight of Steve keeping him pinned in place.

“I can’t believe you’re,” Danny groaned, “inside me,”

“I know, I know,”

“This is really happening, you’re actually-”

“Yeah, I’m really inside you, Danno, I’m really inside you,”

Their words were becoming rushed, breathless.

“Don’t call me by,” Danny’s words were jolted by Steve’s thrusts, the squelch of lubricant making him blush even more, “that nickname when we’re…!”

“Call you whatever I want,” Steve growled with a smile, biting at his neck, “When we’re in the office, you’re gonna be thinking about this,”

“Oh god Steve,”

“Maybe I’ll bend you over that fucking desk someday,”

“Yeah?” Danny’s voice pitched upwards, astounded and aroused beyond reason at the suggestion.

“Yeah, fuck you right there.”

“Steve-”

“Yeah, you’d love it, you’d love it.”

Danny was trembling. He reached his hands down to grab at Steve’s ass, holding him there as Steve really started to fuck him properly. He couldn’t decide whether that grounded him or just made him more aware of the movements of Steve’s body, the way he drove deep inside, his whole body behind the motion, lines of muscle and bone driving with one goal in mind. He loved it. He loved it so much. He was overwhelmed. The _slap, slap, slap_ sound of the sex was familiar, but he’d never experienced it like this. Never felt his body yielding and tightening, closing and opening, flesh tightly hugging Steve’s cock. Never been embraced by a hard, unmistakably male physique, flat planes of muscle where he’d once become used to soft curves and pillowed breasts against his chest.

He kept hold of Steve’s ass with one greedy hand, the other drifting between their bodies to grip his cock, pumping himself furiously. Steve hummed appreciatively, kissing him hard.

Danny thought of the soft bodies he’d loved, the women he’d touched, the sounds he’d become used to. They were so far away from this room, as was the man he’d once been, the person unwilling to consider too closely his lingering glances at other men. And he thought about Steve, overwhelmed by the body against him, and was filled with a sense of love and pride for this wonderful, remarkable man. The odds against him had been so strong. Steve had built himself up from nothing, clawed his way to a full life, crawled on his stomach through mud and shit, taken bullets and collapsed under the weight of loss and violence, clung on by his fingernails to a life that hardly anybody else would find worth living. He’d fought to be here. Fought to live.

Tears bloomed in Danny’s eyes, beading in his lashes, making him sniff and wipe at his face. His throat tightened, a strangled sound accidentally escaping his chest. Steve stiffened, lifting himself up enough that he could see Danny’s face. His lips parted in shock, expression collapsing into wide-eyed worry.

“…Danny? Danny, hey,” he panted, stroking Danny’s cheek, smudging a trailing tear with a gesture of his thumb, “Hey, look at me. You’re okay. You’re okay. What is it?”

“I’m just,” Danny felt so fucking stupid when his voice caught on the words. He grinned hopelessly through his tears, trying to communicate impossibly nuanced feelings, “I’m just so… I love you so much Steve, I’m so glad you’re… That we’re both still alive, I just… The odds against us, fuck…”

Steve paused for a moment, then hugged him tightly, their bodies pressed together. Danny held him close, trying not to cry.

“It’s okay,” Steve murmured, “It’s okay, I’m right here, we’re okay.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Danny laughed, words hitched and uneven, “Acting like an idiot,”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Well, that’s up for debate-”

Steve kissed him, smiling against his mouth. “Shh,” he whispered, “It’s okay. Calm down, it’s okay.”

They lay there for a long moment, Steve still buried deep inside him.

“You wanna stop?”

“Fuck no,” Danny muttered, “No I don’t wanna stop.”

Steve chuckled. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to keep fucking you?”

“Yeah, Steven,” Danny groaned, inhaling sharply when Steve inched his hips forward, “God, yeah, Steve, shit,”

The intensity of emotion was still there, it didn’t quite recede, but Danny clung to Steve and squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely, as aroused as he was overcome by their shared devotion. He heard himself, heard the helpless litany of _uh, uh, uh,_ blending with Steve’s grunts, the other man’s mouth at his ear, whispering things that made Danny tremble. Filthy things, praises and dirty confessions, promises of where they’d do this and how, what the future would bring. Adoring, softer assurances, pledges of loyalty carried on Steve’s racing breaths.

“Want you to,” Danny tried to say, choking on his own words, “Want you to be their dad, Grace and Charlie, I want you to,”

“Yeah?” Steve panted, “That a proposal, Danno?”

“Don’t be a fucking smartass-”

“M’not.”

“Yeah, I guess it is, I guess- _ah-_ guess it fucking is, you impossible goddamn-”

“I’d be honoured,” Steve told him, “to be Gracie’s dad,”

Danny buried his face in Steve’s neck, hardly able to believe they were having this conversation at all. What a fucking time to be saying this stuff. He wanted to walk down the aisle with Steve, wanted to put a silver ring on his finger, wanted to see him in a suit, wanted to tell Gracie, _me and Steve, we're more than just friends._ She'd understand. Those clever brown eyes saw far more than Danny gave her credit for, and she knew they were family already, had accepted years ago that Steve would be part of their lives forever. She wasn't a child anymore. She was part of a new generation. She wouldn't have to wade through the kinds of baggage Danny had been lumped with, the cultural garbage that had been dumped on him by conservative ideals.

It was the thought of them together like that, hands entwined into old age, bickering in lawn chairs by the beach, that carried him past any remaining control.

"Steve, Steve...!"

"Danny, shit, I got you, I got you,"

They came together like something out of a romance movie. The tide of emotion crashed down on Danny and then moved through him, leaving him floating and loose-limped, collapsing down onto the bed as tremors ebbed and flowed through every limb. Steve bowed over him, sweat-slick forehead against Danny's shoulder, cock deep inside Danny's body.

They didn't speak for ages. When Steve did look at him, Danny still had glassy eyes, wet cheeks, and a broken smile. They kissed, gently now. Carefully.

So tenderly navigating their new reality.

 

 


End file.
